Homecoming
by StarWars-Freak
Summary: Samantha Mann left home as a teenager. Now, a famous pianist and singer with a ten year old daughter, all she wants to to be home with her brothers and father for the first time in eighteen years.
1. Prologue

SUMMARY: Samantha Mann left home as a teenager and never looked back. Now, a famous pianist and singer out of London with a ten-year-old daughter, all she wants is to be home with her brothers and father for the first time in eighteen years.

_**Homecoming**_

Prologue:

"_Dear Donnie,_

"_Every year I write to you on this day – Thanksgiving. Every year I tell myself, 'this will be the year I send the letter.' Every year I make some excuse as not to. Not this year._

"_You must hate me for never coming home, never returning your calls all those years ago, and nothing I can say will change that, but I hope one day I can make it up to you._

"_I think of you constantly, you and Daddy and little Charlie, though I suppose he isn't too little any more. I miss you all so much – especially you._

"_I love you forever,_

"_Sammie."_

_-_

"We are here today with Ms. Samantha Mann, the stunning American musician whose haunting, melancholy voice and beautiful smile has captured the hearts of millions across Europe." The British talk show host turned to Sam. "Samantha, welcome."

"Thank you, Caroline," Sam blushed slightly at the woman's introduction and smiled brilliantly to her and the audience. She would never get used to the limelight.

"Despite your ten years as a recording artist, this is your first television interview, right?" Sam nodded. "Are you nervous?"

"Oh, I trust you."

"Good," she said with a little chuckle, "Let's just jump right in, shall we?"

"Sounds perfect."

"Your music is absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you."

"You began singing at a pub in London?"

"Yes, I did. I working as a waitress there, and my best friend who was also working there basically shoved me onto this little stage that had a piano in the corner and ordered me to play for the customers there. Two years later other pubs and lounges were hiring me to play and sing until I finally secured a small record deal in '97."

"You blend classical melodies with very emotional lyric and manage to form an ethereal sound with little other instrumental accompaniment. Why did you chose to follow what was and still is a less popular style?"

"My mother taught me how to play classical piano at a young age. It was the _only_ thing we had in common – our love for music. So that's just what comes out, classical music, and of course, my lyrics just come from the heart."

"You write mainly about your family, your brothers in particular, and life in Los Angeles, California. Can you tell me about that?"

"Um, there's not much to say. I left home the night of my high school graduation, and I haven't been back since. I actually have not spoken with either of my brothers in quite a long time."

"But you still write about them?"

"We were very close, and I regret never contacting them. Now, I think it's probably too late to do so."

"We all know about your topping the charts in England for the past seven years and recent jump in popularity in France after coming out with your all French album two years ago while living there for several years, but how's your popularity in America?"

"Actually, it's very ironic. I have a small cult following there, but no where near the popularity as here and in other places in Europe."

"Even though most of your songs are about growing up there?"

"Even though most of my songs are about growing up there," she confirmed.

-

"Megan, Megan," Don touched the woman's shoulder. She snapped over to look at him. Grinning sheepishly, she took the headphones from her ears.

"Sorry. Amita lent me this CD the other day – I've been obsessed ever since."

"What CD?"

"This singer from London – Samantha Mann."

"Samantha Mann?" he repeated slowly. She hadn't mentioned _that_ in the letter he'd received several days before.

"Heard of her? She's actually from around here."

"So are a lot of people. Have you gotten any farther of tracking down that gun?" he changed the subject to the case, trying hard not to think of Sam.

Megan, probably sensing something was up, nodded slowly and turned to her computer to show him what she'd found.

-

"_Samantha Mann,"_ she could hear the announcement from inside the limousine. Camera flashes were already going off, though she had yet to even open the door. Her chauffer opened it for her, and one perfectly toned leg at a time, she stepped onto the red carpet that led up to the entrance of the royal ball. The bodice of her red gown was all but painted on and the skirt of it dripped from her hips. The long slit up the side tantalized the men in the crowd, and her rubies and diamonds could make any woman swoon with envy. Several brunette curls were strategically placed around her face, shadowing her eyes and adding to the mystery she kept around herself.

She slowly made her way down the fan-lined path without an escort as she did at every party.

The ball was the same as all the others. Rather than feeling like Alice in Wonderland, everything fantastic and new, as she had in the beginning, Sam felt more like Eliza Doolittle, surrounded by royalty and nobility and the generally rich who she could emulate for the night with her natural poise and grace but never actually fit in with. She was just an American-Jewish girl from LA that they were all curious about – watching her as if she was an attraction at the zoo.

She avoided the younger men at the party, even hid herself among the inane gossipers so she would not have to dance with them, as declining an offer for a dance would have been the greatest social faux pas of the year. She danced with a few of the old men who were only happy to dance with a beauty like her and thought their innocuous conversations actually held her interest.

She finally arrived at her flat at around one in the morning. She opened the door slowly as if afraid of the reception she may receive. Of course, she _was _afraid of the reception she _would_ receive. Empty silence.

She quickly stripped out of the gown and let her mane of curls fall from the diamond studded clips and pins that had held it through the night and dressed in an old tank top and sweats.

Afterwards, she went back into the living room and sat at the grand piano with her spiral notebook turned to a fresh page. She began to play, intermittently scribbling down her thoughts in lyric form and different cords she liked on the notebook paper. She lost track of time as she fell into her "music trance," finally coming out of it towards dawn. Carefully, she daubed the tears from her cheeks and the fallen drops that landed on her notes, trying not to blur the scrawling all over the once clean page.

"_It's Been Awhile_," she crammed in at the top of the page and underlined it, indicating that the line was to be the title of what could be her next hit.

She sighed and leaned back. Glancing at her calendar, she could see the huge red circle around the box of December 16th. God, she wanted to be in LA. She got up and stumbled into her bedroom, finally going to sleep as the sun peaked over the horizon.


	2. Chapter 1

REVEIW RESPONSES: To Rogue Honey: Yep, a sister. Thanks. Here's the update. To SyberiaWinx: Thank you. Yes, it will be interesting to see how she reacts, but don't forget about the the Eppses are going to react!

A/N: Please review. Reveiws make me squee with joy.

_**Homecoming**_

Chapter 1:

"Samantha. Samantha! _Samantha!_" the calls became more and more intense.

"Wha…?" Sam finally mumbled before turning over in bed, away from the pesky voice.

"Samantha, get up. It's already past noon." The urgency of it being past noon was foreign to Sam. She usually slept 'til tea after a party like the one last night. "It's Friday," the British woman explained to the semi-lucid Sam. "The eighth," she tried again after no response.

Sam bolted upright. "Shit!" She threw back the covers and stumbled out of bed, cursing all the way. She stripped and jumped into the shower, not even bothering to take the time to adjust the tap. When she got out and toweled dry, Kimberly had already laid out an outfit and could be heard making coffee in the kitchen.

"I'm so late," she exclaimed as she threw her wet curls into a ponytail, knowing she'd regret not styling it later.

"Yes, you are," Kimberly agreed and handed her a cuppa.

Sam gulped down the hot drink and slammed the mug down. After yanking on her boots and throwing on her coat, scarf, and sunglasses, she grabbed her shoulder bag and ran out the door, Kimberly closely following.

"What were you thinking not setting an alarm?" Kimberly scolded in her perfect, polished, stereotypical English accent, as she drove through London's traffic.

"I wasn't. I was tired. That party, my God – "

"Oh, do not get me started on that party, Samantha Mann."

"What?"

"Don't you dare act innocent. Did you dance with a single man you might actually be interested in?"

"Kimberly… I'm just… I'm not ready."

"What are you waiting for? A sign from God? It has been ten years since Stephen died. I'm getting worried."

"He was _your_ brother."

"And I know you loved him, but one date with a nice guy will not kill you."

"I have to think about Dannie."

"Yes, you're doing a _brilliant_ job at that," she commented sarcastically.

"I can't date and have her get attached and then break it off."

"She's ten, not five. And she's away at second'ry school. How will she get attached?"

"Kimberly, please, just drop it." Sam could see in the window's reflection Kimberly looking at her.

"Fine… for now. You need to put on your makeup anyway. You look bloody terrible."

"Thank you," she replied, ignoring her best friend's last comment. She carefully made up her face, taking care to make it perfect just in case a photographer caught her. Her hair was already a mess, no need to give them more than that.

The two friends remained silent until half way through the three-hour drive, when finally not being able to take not speaking anymore Kimberly struck up a conversation about Sam's next album. Kimberly, who doubled as Sam's manager, had scheduled the recording to begin just after the New Year. Sam really couldn't care less – the business of the music industry was just a pesky din in the background of her mind. Kimberly was better at thinking of stuff like that.

They finally arrived – only forty-five minutes late – at Dannie's prestigious boarding secondary school. Thanks to Sam's erratic living style that came with the beginning of her career, which also happened to be the beginning of Dannie's life, Sam had hired a tutor to travel with them, rather than enroll Dannie in full time school, providing Dannie with an accelerated education and landing her in secondary school a year ahead of others her age.

She ran through the hall and skidded to a stop in front of her daughter who sat in her blouse and plaid skirt on a bench outside a teacher's office.

"You're late," she said frankly in her mixed accent.

"I know; I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

Danni folded her arms and stood, trying to look cross. "I'll think about it," she said mock-solemnly. After the two stared at each other for a minute, mirroring their stances, both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Sam embraced her daughter and kissed the inherited mass of brunette curls on top of her head.

"Ms. Mann," Sam looked over to where the imperious call had come. A prim old woman with a pinched face stood at the end of the corridor.

"Headmistress Waterfield – "

"You are late."

"Yes, I realize that. I am so sorry – "

"Follow me please."

"If I'm not out in thirty minutes, check under the floorboards for my body," she whispered to Dannie.

"Good luck," she whispered back.

"Ms Mann," Waterfield called again sharply.

"Yes, I'm coming." Sam hurried after the martinet who always managed to make her feel like she was a misbehaving student rather than an adult and parent.

They walked silently to Waterfield's office where a young man sat in a bench, until he saw them approach and he rose.

"Ms Mann, this is Mr. Brune, Danielle's mathematics teacher. Anthony, this is Ms Mann."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brune."

"And you, Ms Mann." They politely shook hands.

"Mr. Brune has requested a meeting with you after ours. Anthony, we will be out in a moment." Waterfield ushered Sam into her office, and with a quick glance back at the smiling Anthony Brune, she entered the lion's den.

-

Don stared at his computer screen, hands poised over the keyboard. He'd sent everyone home for the night, but he remained, claiming he needed to do paperwork.

"_Samantha Mann,"_ he typed into the Google search bar and hit enter. _Results 1-10 out of about 350,000._ He stared at the long list of blue links. Several weren't even in English.

"_The Official Website of Samantha Mann,"_ boasted the top link in big letters. He glanced around to make sure he was alone and clicked the link.


	3. Chapter 2

REVIEW RESPONSE: To Rogue Honey: yeah, poor Don. More about Samantha's past will be revealed throughout the story, but definitely look for the next couple of chapters which will have a bit more Don. Thanks. Here's the update.

_**Homecoming**_

Chapter 2:

Headmistress Beatrice Waterfield was a terrifying woman whose wiry white hair was always pulled taut in a bun on the top of her head and whose perpetually pursed lips proved the old wives' tale that if you frowned too much your face _would_ be stuck like that.

"Ms Mann," Waterfield began after seating herself in behind her desk and offered Sam tea – which she politely accepted and sipped daintily – "Despite the concerns I voiced when you first enrolled Danielle in class, she seems to be doing fairly well, academically and behaviorally; however, I worry about her age."

"Madame, forgive me, but if she is doing well, what is there to worry about?"

"She may be doing well in her classes and she has yet to be sent to my office for behavior problem, but socially, she is suffering."

"I don't understand. She has always been outgoing."

"Outgoing, perhaps, Danielle is not socialize with girls close to her own age. She spends her time with girls far older than herself."

"I am sorry; I don't see the problem."

"She is precocious."

"She is mature for her age, granted, but she has always been around older children. I was under the impression that she spends most her time with her cousin Amanda."

"Amanda is fifteen. She will be graduating in only a few years. Then with whom do you propose Danielle spend her time?"

"I will talk to her about spending more time with girls her age."

"Thank you." Waterfield stood, and Sam followed suit. "That was all I need to speak with you about for the time being." They shook hands.

"Thank you for your time and concern, Madame."

"Mr. Brune, I am sure, waits for you outside." Waterfield opened the door for her.

Anthony Brune once again stood. He was a tall, handsome man, broad shouldered with a strong jaw. Sam was always most comfortable with the ones that looked like they played sports in school, after effects of growing up with her baseball playing twin no doubt.

"Ms Mann, my office is this way." He led her down the hall to a door that stood slightly ajar and pushed it open. "Please excuse the mess."

"Oh, hardly known for organization myself." He smiled.

"May I take your coat?"

"Yes, thank you." She handed him the coat and scarf that she had thrown over her arm previously. "Please, make yourself comfortable." She sat in a comfortable leather chair across from his desk. "Has Aunt Beatrice already tortured you with her tea?"

"I'm sorry? 'Aunt'?"

"Unfortunately yes, she is my great aunt."

"Oh, those must be… interesting family dinners."

He laughed deeply. "Yes, interesting is certainly a word to describe them. Did she?"

"Did she…?"

"Serve you tea."

"Oh, yes, she did." He held out a tin of sugar cookies.

"To get rid of the bitterness."

"Thank you," she accepted, choosing one. "I thought that was just the opinion of an uncouth American."

"No, that is the opinion of all who must suffer her company." He sat in her desk chair. "It's quite a pleasure to finally meet you; Danielle speaks of you quite a bit."

"She's mentioned you as well, Mr. Brune."

"It's Anthony, please."

"And I'm Samantha." He smiled again, drying her mouth. God, she was a sucker for a nice smile. "So, you wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, well, I just wanted to introduce myself. Danielle is one of my top students."

"Well, that's wonderful to hear. I know she enjoys your class." They stared at each other for a moment.

"There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, but I can't seem to remember. I'm sorry." He shuffled through some papers on his desk. "I can't seem to think of it at all."

"It's fine." She brushed some of her rebellious curls from her eyes, truly wishing she had had time to style them that morning.

"Well, I have lived up to the stereotype of absent minded mathematician it seems. I won't hold you up any longer."

"Thank you. Um, here, hold on; let me give you my telephone number." She dug around in her bag until coming up with a pen and notepad. She scribbled down the number on a piece paper and handed it to him. "You can reach me at my flat this way, if you remember what it was you needed to speak about."

"Thank you." He pocketed the paper. "Let me walk you out."

-

_He glanced around to make sure he was alone and clicked the link._

The screen seemed to take forever to load. It finally did.

It was a simple website, not many wanton graphics, just a blue background with a gold border and a quote at the top – _"Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Ehad."_ He recognized the prayer from the few times his mother managed to drag him to the synagogue. Sam was always more pious than he. There were several links to various parts of the website. _"Biography and Photograph Gallery," "Music," "Letter to Fans_," and _"Concerts and Appearances" _were just a few. Not really knowing where to start, he clicked the _"Letter"_ link.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: As I forgot last chapter: The prayer or Sh'ma, _"Shema Yisrael Adonai Elohienu Adonai Ehad,"_ is translated, "Hear O Israel! The LORD is our God; the LORD is One." It is a prayer said every Sabbath and can also be said in solidarity.

REVIEW RESPONSE: **To Rogue Honey**: Actually, he'll be reading a letter she wrote to her fans. I guess, Anthony's a bit like Charlie. He's not a genius by any means though. Originally I was going to make his a French teacher, but it just somehow came out as mathematics teacher. You're not a loser, you're my most faithful reviewer! Thank you! **To Ash-rox**: Thank you. Here's the update.

_**Homecoming**_

Chapter 3:

"So, who was that walking you out?" Kimberly asked as they pulled away from the school.

"That was Mr. Brune," Dannie answered for Sam.

"And what does Mr. Brune teach?"

"Maths."

"Oh? Do you like Mr. Brune?" she asked, glancing in the rear view mirror at Dannie.

"Oh yes, very much. He's very clever."

"What about you, Samantha? You two seemed to be getting on well."

"He's very nice…"

"To look at, absolutely," Kimberly finished. Sam tried to hide the blush that rose to her cheeks to no avail.

"Mum! You're blushing."

"I am not!"

"Are too! You like Mr. Brune," Dannie cried in singsong.

"Don't be so embarrassed," Kimberly addressed Sam. "He's fit; you're fit; he's brilliant; you're brilliant."

"How would you know that he's brilliant?"

"So you admit he's brilliant?"

"Kimberly."

"He's a maths teacher, I would assume he's brilliant. Is he, Dannie?"

"Oh yes, very. And funny."

"My, my, my, good-looking, brilliant and funny – sounds like the perfect man, right, Dannie?"

Dannie nodded enthusiastically. "Awright awready! Will you two stop?" Sam asked, frustrated. The two smiled mischievously but turned to another topic.

"So what do you want to do for your holiday break?"

"I don't know. Mum, have you decided where we're going this year? Can we go to Israel again?"

"I was thinking about being at home this year."

"But celebrating Chanukah in Jerusalem was so wicked last year."

"We can't just fly to Israel. That took a bit more preparation than a few days. Besides, I told your grandparents we would be at Christmas dinner."

"But we're Jewish."

"Yes, but Grandma and Grandpa Warner are not, nor is your Aunt Kimberly. And since when do you argue about getting more gifts?"

"I know. I just really wanted to go somewhere this year. We always do."

"And this year, we're going home for Chanukah."

"If you insist." Sam and Kimberly chuckled at Dannie's dramatics. Sam smiled at her small family; this year she was really going home, even if Dannie and Kimberly didn't realize it yet.

-

_Not really knowing where to start, he clicked the _"Letter"_ link._

Tapping his foot on the ground as the page loaded, he considered closing the window and leaving, but the letter was up before he had a chance.

"_December 1, 2006,_

"_Shalom aleichem,_

"_Here I am, once again updating my monthly letter. _

"_The holidays are coming up, and I can't wait. Nor can my tokhter (daughter) who has already emailed me her Chanukah/Christmas list, quite different from the one I had at that age. _

"_Unfortunately, once again I've had to postpone the release of my Chanukah "Carols" album – next year hopefully._

"_My Concerts page has been updated including ticket information for my annual New Year's concert, and I should begin recording a new album early in 2007._

"_I hope you all have a wonderful Chanukah, Christmas, or whatever holiday you celebrate, and of course, have a very happy and prosperous New Year._

"_Mit grus dayn,_

"_Samantha."_

Don sat back, trying to absorb what he'd just read. He had a niece. She didn't have a daughter eleven years before when he tracked her down, so she had to be younger.

He read through it again, trying to squeeze out all the information he could. The Yiddish surprised him; their mother had spoken Yinglish to them when they were young, but had stopped after a while, when none of them seemed to be interested in learning Yiddish. He hadn't heard Yiddish since Mom died, Dad hadn't used it since then. Of course, Sam had always gone to synagogue on Sabbath and mingled with the Jewish community; whereas, he had shoved it aside. From what he had found years previously, she had lived in Brooklyn for a time near Borough Park, probably getting close to fluent in Yiddish.

He had a niece. He still couldn't believe it. He rubbed his face with his hand and click on another link.

* * *

A/N: For non-Jewish, non-Yiddish speaking individuals, here's a guide to some of the Yiddish words/Jewish references. (I'll have this at the end of every chapter where I use Yiddish.) 

_Chanukah/Hanukkah_: the eight-day festival of lights that celebrates a miracle that happened in Judea. Having overthrown their invaders, Judah the Maccabbe went to rededicate the temple, but there was only enough of the sanctified olive oil that was used to keep the Eternal Flame burning to work for one day. It took eight days to make more. Rather than going our, the Eternal Flame continued to burn on that small jar of olive oil for all eight days. It is now celebrated worldwide by the Jewish community and usually falls around Christmas time. This year Chanukah began on the 16th.

_Shalom Aleichem_: "Peace be upon you." A common greeting that is responded with "_Aleichem Shalom_"

_Tokhter_: as already said, "daughter."

_Mit grus dayn_: "sincerely yours" as one would end a letter.

_Yiddish_: a language widely spoken by the Jewish community; mostly a mixture of Hebrew, Germanic dialects, and other Eastern Europe languages. I.e. "tokhter" and "mit grus dayn"

_Yinglish_: a form of Yiddish used by English-and-Yiddish-speaking people. Many words have permeated into American English (creating "Amdish") i.e. "schumtz."

_Borough Park_: a neighborhood in Brooklyn that boasts the largest concentration of Orthodox Jews next to Israel in the world.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Have you ever had one of those days where you get up early, and you actually feel good (after a cuppa coffee of course), and you sit down, and you just have all this inspiration, and you're pounding out this really clever, great chapter that reveals just enough information, but not too much and in this really interesting way?

Then your computer crashes, and you realize that because you didn't want to interrupt your flow, you didn't get around to saving all of what you'd written for that chapter onto your jump stick, and, in fact, the last time you'd saved anything onto your jump stick was yesterday when all you had was the title, the chapter number, and the first sentence (that you hadn't even kept).

Because, yeah, that was my morning. How was yours?

Any questions, comments, ideas you want to drop me are welcome.

REVIEW RESPONSES: **To Ash-rox**: thank you. Here's more. **To Dreamingstars**: thanks a bunch. It'll take a while for me to get them there, but yeah, that'll be a shocker. **To RogueHoney**: He'll learn more (kind of) this chapter. Yep, going to see the Eppes boys. Here's the update.

_**Homecoming**_

Chapter 4:

Sam pushed open the door to their flat, and the three rushed in, trying to escape the cold of the London winter. Dannie threw her coat onto the rack and fell onto one of the large leather coaches in the living room. "Home at last!" she cried.

"Why don't you go wash up; we'll eat soon."

Dannie jumped up and went into her room, toting her small suitcase.

"Drink?" Sam offered Kimberly, who nodded her head and went around the flat tiding up.

"I'm not your bloody maid," she said as she folded a throw blanket that had somehow managed to end up in a pile on the floor, "So why the bloody hell am I cleaning up after you?" She abandoned her efforts and threw the blanket onto a nearby armchair.

"Here," Sam handed her a tumbler of red wine. Kimberly accepted the drink and joined Sam in the kitchen to find something that could be made into a meal.

"Vos iz oyf varmes?" Dannie asked coming into the kitchen, now dressed in blue jeans and a sweater.

"Would you please explain to your daughter that she is English and therefore should _speak English_?" Kimberly addressed Sam, who ignored her and held up two take-out boxes.

"Khinezish or…" she sniffed the other but pulled it away quickly to look at the contents, a lumpy yellowish substance, "Tsvorekh… efsher…"

"Khinezish," both Dannie and Kimberly said at the same time.

"I have no idea what Khinezish means, but I'm all for it," Kimberly added.

"Chinese."

"Definitely all for it, then." Sam heated the boxes of Chinese take-out, while Dannie and Kimberly set the table.

When they were finally settled around the table with ginger chicken and fried rice on their plates and a glass of wine each – Dannie with only a quarter full glass – the phone rang. They ignored it, but as the voice started speaking on the answering machine, Sam really wished she hadn't.

"Um, hello, Samantha, this is Anthony… Anthony Brune. I, er, I r-remember what it was that I needed to ask you…" Sam leaned her head into her palms as Dannie and Kimberly's giggles drowned out the rest of the recording.

"No, you two have _no_ interest in each other _at all_," Kimberly said mockingly.

"Oh shvayg shoyn!"

"If I actually knew what that meant…"

"Shut up!"

"Well, that's not very lady-like. What kind of example are you setting for your daughter? First you date her teacher…" A fresh wave of giggles overcame both again. Sam picked at her chicken. "Oh, come on, Samantha, you know we're just teasing."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

-

The Biography page loaded.

Don gazed at the words, not really reading them, not really sure if he wanted to. His sister's life was condensed onto a webpage, and he knew less than her fans probably did. He began to read.

"_Before 1999, when her third album, 'Close to Heart,' suddenly topped London music charts, few had heard of Samantha Mann, a young 'American Jewish Girl' – as her song states – from Los Angeles, California. Since 1998's discovery of the talented musician and 'hobby-linguist' (Mann is fluent in five languages with a good understanding of several others as well), Samantha Mann has become a household name all over the United Kingdom and into France, as of her all French album 'Amour' in 2004, and other parts of Europe and parts of Asia, and North and South America by 2006."_

"Global recognition," Don said to himself. His sister was a globally recognized musician, but he hadn't heard her name spoken for years until earlier that day. Not only was she a globally recognized musician, she was a globally recognized musician with a daughter, and had been for years. He forced himself to continue reading.

"_Born on July 15, 1970, Samantha Mann grew up just outside Los Angeles, California with her parents and two brothers (a twin and a younger brother). Despite her family – especially her brothers – making it into most of her songs, little is known of her family. The only named member is her mother, Margaret, credited for writing Etude in G minor, the basis for the melody of 'My Other Half' on Mann's first album 'You Never Knew Me.' Mann claims to be a tomboy in her early years, 'one of my first memories is of watching the world series with my brother (and enjoying it). I could play basically every sport known to man – no pun intended – by the age of ten.' Later in her teens, Mann became the typical rebellious teenager, 'my twin was Mr. Athletic and Popular, he was the type of guy who could get a girl in the backseat of his car within five minutes of meeting her for the first time and never get in trouble with our parents; my little brother was Mr. Academic, he was five years younger than me and tutoring me in math, I swear. I felt like I had to balance out our abnormally talented and well behaved family by being the worst I could be.'_

"_At the age of eighteen, Mann's rebellion came to head when she left home for New York City. 'There were a few reasons I chose New York. One, I always really identified with my Jewish heritage. I wanted more of it, so I moved to Brooklyn as close as I could afford to Borough Park. Two, it was the farthest away I could get from LA.' Mann stayed in Brooklyn for two and a half years; by the generosity of a man, Mann has simply identified him as 'Rabbi,' Mann finished out her third year away from home in London, boarding with an Orthodox Jewish family. 'Rabbi – that's what everyone called him at the shop I was working in, of course, a lot of men were called Rabbi there – found out I was an aspiring musician. My landlady knew him, and she had heard me playing in my apartment on this old beat up Yamaha I had dragged with me from across the country (I still have it in my closet somewhere). Anyway, Rabbi was a patron of the arts, and he had this friend in London, so he made a call and a few days later handed me a plane ticket,' she explains, 'A lot of things like that happened to me after I left home. I think becoming a musician is my goyrl, God's will for me.'"_

Her goyrl, her fate. But she couldn't let their parents help her achieve it. He got her need for independence, he had felt, still felt, the same, but how could she accept help from complete strangers, when she wouldn't accept help from her own twin? She obviously knew about their mother's secret life as a musician; she should have known their mother would have done everything she could to get to the top. Now, he couldn't stop; he had to glean as much information from the vague biography as possible.

"_After only six months, Mann left London for what she believed was her ultimate destination – Vienna, 'My mother studied in Vienna, that's where she found her sound, so I thought I'd give it a try.' Her one year there helped, but not in the way she had hoped. 'I blamed it on my lack of money. I didn't have the money to pay for any type of training, so I had to spy on the masters. I rarely got to actually play on a real piano, just my Yamaha, which I couldn't plug in because I hadn't any electricity so I just had to imagine what it would sound like.' For the next two years, Mann traveled, hoping something would inspire her. First, a pilgrimage to Israel, then she went onto Paris, Rome, and Ireland. 'It was funny really, being in Israel. I'm fluent in modern Hebrew, so I had no problem with any of that, but I was also, obviously fluent and understandable in English, so I ended up working for a tourist company that brought people to the sites of Christian holy places. Here, I had spent everything I had to get to Israel to have a Jewish religious experience, and I was working for a Catholic company. It wasn't all bad of course; I got a lot of tips.' Her experience as a tour guide in Israel taught her how she would get by for the next few months in France, 'I spent the first few weeks learning every nuance I could – I was already quite good in French, my twin who was forced to endure my constant practice using him as a sounding board can attest to this – then I went to the most tourist-y place I could find, wowed everyone with my as-flawless-as-an-American-can-get French, and began work as a translator and tour guide for those who couldn't afford the really pricey ones. It wasn't glamorous, but it gave me enough to pay the rent and electric bill, so I could finally play my keyboard and hear sound.' After Paris, Mann lived for three months in Rome. 'I'm a bit of a hobby-linguist. I can speak and understand a lot of languages, even if I'm not completely fluent, but my understanding of the Italian language, even now, is purely operatic, with maybe a smattering of some necessary phrases, you know: where's the bathroom type stuff. I had moved there hoping I could play in a small opera house. The closest I actually got was the ticket booth where I worked, selling over priced tickets to tourists who didn't know any better.' For the last nine months of her fifth year on her journey, Mann lived on a small farm in Ireland, claiming she doesn't 'know how on earth that happened.' _

"_Despite her travels to some of the most beautiful and creative places on earth, Mann still had yet to 'find' her 'sound.' That is, until her move back to London in early 1994. Looking for a job in London was the hardest she'd encountered. There was no translating position available, and unlike in Borough Park, Mann didn't have her ethnicity to fall back on. Waitressing experience in high school led her to enter a small pub that was hiring. The barkeep also owned the bar and his sister was the sole, harried waitress. For some time, the siblings were the only friends Mann had. Though she denies the possibility of love at first sight, within the year, Mann was in love and living with her boss, who inspired her, with help from his 'conspiring' sister, to play the piano and sing on Saturday nights at the pub. In December of 1995, Steven Warner proposed."_

Here it was; Don could feel it. His niece would have to be mentioned soon. He could picture it: "Mann married Warner and a few years later they had a daughter."

"_Two months later, Warner was killed in a car accident on his way to meet with Mann at his parents' home so they could reveal the news they had learned just days before: Mann was pregnant."_

Don nearly fell out of his chair. That was nowhere near the happily ever after he had imagined for her.

"_Though Mann declines comments on her relationship with Warner and the aftermath of his accident, she does admit, 'I've taken my engagement ring off twice. The last time I took it off was to move it from my left hand to my right – several years after Steven's death – it was the hardest thing I've ever done … No matter the occasion, it never comes off, not even for sleeping or bathing … It's my favorite piece of jewelry, with my locket in close second – like my ring, I always have that locket with me, even if it's not around my neck.' Both pieces of jewelry are featured on every album cover and each has its own song written for it._

"_Sometime during August or September 1996, Mann gave birth to a daughter. An actual birth date and name have never been commented on, though several rumors have come forth. Mann, however, has confirmed that she holds her father's surname, 'That would be an absolute insult to his memory to have another name until she marries and takes her husband's.' The relationship with the Warner family is also unconfirmed, though Kimberly Warner, Warner's sister, is Mann's manager. 'Everyone in the Warner family are business people; I'm not, so it's good to have Kimberly there making sure I don't lock myself in a room somewhere, completely forgetting all obligations, and compose music until I starve to death.' Mann has also mentioned spending Christmas with the Warner's 'purely for their benefit, as I remain and have raised my daughter very much Jewish.'"_

Don leaned an elbow on his desk and cradled his face; at one point, he had been sure Sam had just fallen off the face of the earth, gotten into drugs, died of an overdose. He knew she had talent, knew she could make something of herself. She'd make a hell of a lawyer, he'd always thought. Now, she was a single mother and successful and – Wait. He looked back at the year of his niece's birth. 1996. Shit. He couldn't remember the words and obscenities he'd screamed at her, after months of tracking her down, of looking over his shoulder so his supervisor wouldn't catch him using FBI resources for personal reasons. He'd finally found her the day their mother died in May of '96, and she'd refused to come home. He's refused to listen to her excuse. She'd been pregnant. She couldn't have come. She probably thought he despised her, like he'd probably screamed that night.

For the first time in years, Don felt the prick of tears in his eyes.

-

A/N: Once again, a Yiddish translator thing. Just a quick disclaimer – I know individual words in Yiddish, not actual grammatical structure, so I tried my best with the sentences and will continue to in the future.

_Vos iz oyf varmes_: "What is for dinner?"

_Khinezish (or) … tsvorekh… efsher_: "Chinese (or) … cottage cheese … possibly"

_Shvayg shoyn_: as already translated, "Shut up"

_Goyrl_: fate, destiny


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas. I know I did. I got a kitten!!!!! I've been begging for one since my last cat passed away, so now I have my little Mara Jade (a name that only makes sense if you, like me, adore Star Wars).

Also, assume that when alone together (i.e. without Kimberly) Sam and Dannie speak Yiddish unless otherwise noted. I would write the conversations in Yiddish, but I thought you might find that tedious to try to figure out what was going on.

I was planning on more Don time this chapter, but I leave in the morning and won't be back until next week, and I really wanted to get this out for you guys before I leave.

REVIEW RESPONSES: **To FindaHappyPlace**: thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Dannie is very advanced, but unfortunately, not Charlie. Here' the update. **To Rogue Honey**: Yeah, I don't envy either Don or Sam. Thanks. **To luvnumb3rs**: I'm glad you're sticking with it. this story is going to be Sam and Don centric, so there will be other characters (especially Charlie and Alan, as they will be majorly affected by everything the twins do), but they will not be focused on. The first five chapters are all happening in two days, where major emotional journeys are going on for Sam and Don, neither of whom are very open about their feelings, so don't expect them to be very chatty with their friends about what they are going through. Charlie and/or the team should pop up in chapter six, but as of now, just enjoy the Sam/Kimberly/Dannie set up and Don's little discovery. **To Printandpolish**: I'm glad you're enjoying it. Thank you so much; it is difficult, so I'm glad to read that I'm pulling it off well. I'm trying not to make it too AU/OOC, so I hope I'm managing that as well. **To Ash-rox**: thank you! Merry Christmas to you too! **To DD2**: thank you! Here's the update. **To KJFlygirl87**: thank you. Here's more!

_**Homecoming**_

Chapter 5:

Once Sam finally managed to get Kimberly and Dannie off her back about the supposed relationship she had with Anthony Brune (the two got so far as to name their three children), the subject switched to Dannie, who was pleased to announce she passed all hr classes with top marks and to inform them of who failed what and the prank Melanie and Katie played on Headmistress Waterfield that landed them in detention for three weeks.

Sam usually enjoyed spending time with Kimberly, but that night she just wished Kimberly would go home; eventually she did, giving each a peck on the cheek and commanding Sam to give her a ring in the afternoon to finalize plans for the holiday parties Sam had been invited to.

Dannie immediately went to the piano to practice her latest concerto piece. Sam jumped in to correct her from time to time, but mostly sat and listened to Dannie play. It was refreshing to hear someone besides herself play, and especially lovely to hear Dannie play.

At eleven, after playing to duets, Sam sent Dannie to bed.

Once she was sure Dannie was asleep in bed, Sam went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of brandy. She rested the cool glass on her forehead between sips. Sam couldn't figure out what it was about Anthony Brune that had gotten her so riled. It couldn't have been Kimberly's and Dannie's teasing – she'd endured worse with Donnie. Steven was the easiest scapegoat of course, but Sam knew it was more than that. She polished off her second glass of brandy and poured a third, going into the living room. Sam had innumerable tchotchkes littering her flat, and intermixed with them were photographs. Photos of Steven and Sam's family were placed around the room on a higher level than the others.

She picked up her favorite of Steven and her, taken the night he proposed. God, they were happy that night and every night after until the accident. Her eyes were already filled with tears. The accident had been all her fault. They'd fought, and she'd stormed off, and he'd died. She didn't even know how the discussion over whether or not to tell her family had become a fight. She sniffled and brushed away the tears, trying to stop the flow to no avail. She never thought of that night. Never. She learned a long time ago that it was the only way she could survive.

She collapsed onto her piano bench and picked up her favorite photo of her brothers. In a rare moment of brotherly and sisterly love, captured forever by their mother's camera, the twins were teaching Charlie how to bat (since they had already discovered he couldn't throw straight). Don was guiding Charlie for the swing while Sam wound up to pitch. She often thought of them as they were, reminiscing on old times like that, but more and more recently, she couldn't help but wonder how her baby brother had grown, how her twin had gotten along for the near two decades they'd been apart. It was in those times when she lost it completely.

She set the picture back on top of her piano, where she kept it, as the sobs began to rack her body. She tried being quiet, tried not to wake Dannie, but nothing could stop Dannie from waking when she slumped onto the piano, causing a loud bang crash from the keys.

She didn't hear Dannie's bedroom door open, or her soft footsteps as she made her way over to the piano, but she did feel Dannie's small arms wrap around her torso and her soft whispers of "don't cry, mummy."

They somehow made it to the couch, with Dannie's face buried in Sam's chest and her arms clutching onto her mother for dear life.

Hours later, Dannie was asleep on top on her mother, curled in a ball, but Sam lay awake, looking at the ceiling. Long after the sun had risen, Sam was still awake.

"Dannie, Dannie, wake up," she whispered and nudged her daughter.

"What time is it?" she muttered, still asleep.

"Nine in the morning." Dannie picked her head off Sam's chest and looked around, before focusing on her mother.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm going to be. C'mon, I'll make breakfast."

"You cook?" Dannie asked after getting up. They went into the kitchen.

"Yes, I cook. I'll have you know I make the best reheated scones in the western hemisphere."

"I don't think that counts as cooking, Mum."

"Counts, schmounts, it's cooking," Sam waved off her daughter's insults and threw the scones into the microwave. Once they were finished, she sent them on the kitchen counter where two stools were, one of which was already filled by Dannie.

"Mum," Dannie looked at her mother. "Are you having a breakdown?"

"_What_?"

"Are you having a breakdown? Jessica Monroe's mother had one a few months ago."

"Who is Jessica Monroe?"

"A girl at school – actually I think she's a bitch – "

"Danielle!"

"You and Aunt Kimberly call people that."

"Aunt Kimberly and I also can sign legally binding contracts."

"Anyway, she was telling Amanda (who thinks she's absolutely fascinating) about how her mother had this breakdown where she was in tears one moment, raging the next, and then fine a second later."

"Well, I'm not having a breakdown like Jessica's Monroe's mother, thank you." Dannie's expression told her that she wasn't believed, but Dannie didn't say another word. "I want to go home," she said a moment later.

"Mum… we are home… do I need to call Aunt Kimberly?"

"I want to go home to Los Angeles."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"For Chanukah?"

"Yes."

"When do we leave?"

-

Don stayed up all night reading her biography and music information and staring at her pictures. She certainly wasn't the same crazy haired tomboy she'd once been. He couldn't get one glimpse of his niece – all of her pictures were of herself and one, the album cover of 'Close to Heart' had her ringed left hand clutching the chain of a delicate heart shaped locket with the Star of David etched into the face. He had given it to her as a gift for her Bat Mitzvah; he couldn't believe she still held onto it.

Facts ran through his mind as he shut down his computer sometime around sunrise and walked out to his car. He didn't go to his apartment or to the house. Instead, he just drove around the city, like a lost boy wandering through the woods.

Finally, he parked his car. The music store on the opposite side of the street was just opening, and even the worried last minute shoppers hadn't managed to get there.

He slowly got out and walked across the street. Entering the building, he wandered around, not really sure where he should look.

"Can I help you?" the poor tired-looking, pimply-faced kid who got roped into working early that Saturday morning asked.

"Yeah, I'm looking for CDs by Samantha Mann."

The boy gave him an odd look but led him to where the CDs were. "Not many people come looking for her stuff, especially dudes."

"My sister," Don mumbled.

"Christmas gift, yeah, should have figured. Well, here you go." He indicated to the sectioned separated out for her music. "I'll be up front when you're ready to check out."

Seven CDs in nine years, the music store had all of them, except for the French one, but he hadn't expected to be able to buy that.

"You must really love your sister," the boy commented as he rang up the six CDs.

"Something like that."

Don paid and left, jogging over to his car and getting in. He didn't start it right away; instead, he opened the first CD and looked for the words he'd already memorized from the website.

"_In loving memory of my mother, Margaret, and of my wonderful fiancé, Steven – I love you both for eternity._

"_Dedicated to my baby girl for whom I live._

"_My greatest thanks to my brothers (especially my twin) and father – these songs are for you, to Kimberly who keeps me sane and well nourished, to my producers for believing in this poor American Jew, to everyone who I may have forgotten, thank you."_

-

A/N: Yiddish dictionary:

_Schmounts_: to add _"sch"_ to the beginning of a word makes fun of the idea (i.e. "counts, schmounts" would be like saying "_psh_, who cares?")

_Tchotchkes_: knickknacks (i.e. statuettes, decorative souveniers)

_Star of David_: the six pointed star used as a symbol of Judaism in reference to King David of Judea, son of Jesse the shepherd, slayer of Goliath, writer of the Psalms, father of Solomon.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Hope everyone had an awesome New Year; I know I did. Sorry about the lack of updates, but exams are next week.

This chapter has a little extra side helping of Don for the extreme lack last chapter, plus some Charlie. Because I wasn't able to put all I wanted in Don's part last chapter, there will be some carry over in the narrative/thoughts. Action will come, I promise.

REVIEW RESPONSE: **To Dreamingstars**: thank you! I'm glad you love it. I'm definitely guilty of putting off updates, but I don't think this story is long enough for that to happen. **To Jas0643**: Thank you! Here's more! **To Ash-rox**: thank you! Here's the update. **To RogueHoney: **yes, very nice.

Please read and review.

_**Homecoming**_

Chapter 6:

"**_What? _**Are you serious? You can't be serious! What are you thinking?"

Sam smiled at the long stream of profanities and questions flowing from her best friend's mouth. Though Dannie was overjoyed at the prospect of going to LA, Kimberly was mortified.

"Samantha, be reasonable. When was the last time you spoke to anyone in your family?"

"I sent Don a letter on Thanksgiving."

"For one thing, why didn't I know about this? And for another, who the bloody hell is Don?"

"My twin brother – listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but, Kimberly, I need to go home."

"This is so crazy!" she moaned.

"This is so bloody brilliant!" Dannie was jumping up and down. "Your family has _got_ to be better than Grandma and Grandpa Warner."

"C'mon, Kimberly, what do you say?"

She heaved a sigh. "I'll go make the reservations."

"Thank you!" both Sam and Dannie squealed.

-

Don got out of his car in front of his childhood home. His father wasn't home, and if Charlie were, he would probably be in the garage. Good.

He grabbed his new CDs and his Discman – Charlie had been bugging him about buying an iPod, but he just didn't see the point as long as CDs were around.

Don entered the house and called out a couple times just to make sure he was alone. He went straight up the stairs and walked down the hallway. He stood in front of the door that hadn't been opened in at least seventeen years. Finally gathering up the courage, he twisted the knob and pushed it open. One-step was all it took to enter another world.

No one had lingered in the room since Dad finally convinced Mom to stop going in where she would promptly break down into tears. After that, Dad cleared the house of Sam, trying to help Mom stop hurting. A stack of photo albums and loose pictures were neatly placed at the foot of her mussed bed – the only thing neat in the perfectly preserved bedroom. The bedspread was still thrown to one side; a few items of clothes were strewn about from had probably been a hurried packing job. There were a few empty picture frames on her nightstand and dresser, along with other odds and ends she had chosen to part with.

A crumpled piece of paper lay on the floor. Don had seen his mother read it many times, though he had not. He closed the door and went to stand in the center of the room, trying to picture Sam in it as she was now. It didn't fit. The woman pictured on her website and CD covers wasn't the rebellious, wild teenager who lived in the squalor she once loved. He picked up the short letter and smoothed it out.

"_Everyone,_

"_I had to get out. I'll come home again._

"_I promise._

"_Sorry,_

"_Samantha._

"_PS. Don, I took the two hundred dollars Granddad sent you for graduation. I'll pay you back when I come home. _

"_Don't touch my stuff."_

Their mother had believed her promise, refusing to allow anyone to touch anything. She simply sat in the middle of the room and looked around, as he now stood. Even after eight years, when she was in the hospital dying, their mother had made Dad swear to leave the room as is, so when Sam did come home, she would know they cared about her wishes.

He sat on the bed.

Though the twins shared almost everything with each other, no one, not even he, was allowed in her room. He looked around, trying to her more information about her, since he obviously didn't know her as well as he thought he had. He had thought he knew her so well, until she ran away for apparently no reason.

She hadn't taken a lot of the stuff she once treasured. The signed Metallica poster she had gotten at her first concert – the tickets had been his gift to her for their sixteenth birthday – still hung on the wall. She used to blast their music so loud the neighbors complain, but there was no stopping her.

A baseball hung in a shadow box, displaying the messy signature scrawled on the sphere. Don had stopped almost every batter as second baseman their freshman year; Sam had begged for the first signature, so she could have bragging right when he became a major league star.

As he poked around, he found her stash of baseball cards (the collection had rivaled his for years), empty cartons of cigarettes, her prom picture (she had gone with the president of the chess club per Charlie's request), notebooks (filled with doodlings, poems, lyrics, and maybe a couple notes for class), and an electric guitar in the back of her closet (he had not even known she played guitar).

He sat on the bed again, this time grabbing a stack of photo albums sure to be filled with pictures of Sam.

He lost track of time as he listened to her CDs and flipped through the pictures of them together or her with Charlie or just her and her untamable mass of curls.

Faintly, what must have been hours later, he could hear Charlie calling his name and walking up the stairs. Don froze. Charlie would never think to look in Sam's room, but now that he knew Don was here, there was no way out without giving away his location. He scrambled to his feet, accidentally knocking over some books in the process – way to be an FBI agent. He held his breath, praying that somehow Charlie hadn't heard the crash. No such luck. In less than a minute, the door swung open, revealing Charlie's shocked face.

"Don, why are you in here? You're not supposed to be in here," he said, stanidn goutside the door in the hall and reminding Don of the one and only time Charlie had entered Sam's room. Ge had been ten, and when Sam founf him in her room, she shoved him out and refused to spek with him for a week.

"Come on, Charlie. It's been what? Eighteen years? Someone's got to get this mess out sometime. If you and Amita end up staying here for the rest of your lives, you're not going to want all of Sam's stuff cluttering a room, are you?" he asked, trying to use  
Amita as a distraction. Charlie paled, making Don think his tactic worked.

"You said her name," Charlie whispered in disbelief.

Don should have known. All mention of Sam had been taboo for years.

"Charlie, why don't you come in? Look, she's not going to jump out of the closet and attack us for being in here."

He slowly entered the bedroom and shifted his weight from foot to foot and eyes from side to side. "You hate her," he said finally. "You said that when she left."

"I was angry, Charlie; everyone was. She just left out of the blue."

"No, she didn't," he said quietly. "She'd been planning it for years. Mom forbade her – said not to be stupid and throw her life away to be a starving artist."

"How do you know that?"

He shrugged. "They used to fight a lot, mostly when they thought no one was around. I would come in from the garage for a drink of water and Sam would be screaming at Mom."

Don ran a hand through his short hair. "Will you help me clean this up?" he asked Charlie, indicating to the fallen pile of photo albums. He would think more about this revelation later. Charlie nodded, and the two brothers began restacking the binders.

"You never missed her before," Charlie mused as they worked.

"Of course I did. I just never said anything." Charlie looked dubiously at him, but didn't comment.

"Have you ever told anyone about her?"

"No, you?"

Charlie shook his head, "I mentioned her name once to Larry while I was at Princeton, but I never got around to actually telling him who she was – Mom walked in before I could, and it never came up again."

Don nodded in understanding. Since they found the note, no one said a word to their parents about Sam. Mom had been likely to break into tears, and Dad… he pretended like she never even existed. Don _had_ hated her after she left. Not for leaving (he had thought of doing so often as well) – but for breaking their family. Charlie had been devastated: though Mom had been the one to nuture him, Sam was the one to keep him on earth. She was the one who pretended to care about what he was explaining, had tried to keep up with his train of thought, but never let him get lost in anything. Unlike Don, who had to look cool, Sam invited Charlie to sit with her and her weird friends at lunch and went out with a guy she didn't particularly like to try to help Charlie get more friends who had his same interests. And, if Don was honest, he had been devastated as well: Sam was his biggest cheerleader, his personal trainer, the one to cover for him when he broke the rules, and the only one willing to keep his ego in check.

"What's this?" Charlie asked suddenly, holding up one of Sam's CDs.

"She's not a starving artist." Charlie looked at it, amazed.

"How'd you find out? I've never heard of her as famous."

"_Your girlfriend_ lent Megan a copy of one of her CDs."

"Amita is… is a fan of _our sister_?"

Don clapped Charlie on the back. "Have fun explaining that one."

The front door could be heard opening. "Don, Charlie!" their father called.

The two scrambled to get downstairs before he went looking for them.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: It's been a while since I updated. School's been killer.

REVIEW RESPONSES: **To Jas0643**: thanks! Here's the update. **To RogueHoney**: thank you. To Ash-rox: thanks! **To Coconut-dreamer**: Thanks, I'm glad I'm keeping it realistic. **To StoryDreamer**: Thanks so much. I'm new to the Numb3rs fanfic community, relatively at least, so I wasn't sure if this would be trite, so I'm glad to hear that it's not. **To DD2**: thanks! Sorry it took awhile. **To FindaHappyPlace**: thanks. Here's the update.

Feel free to drop me a review.

_**Homecoming**_

Chapter 7:

Sam was playing with the ring on her right ring finger; she always did when she was nervous. Every now and then, she would touch the locket around her neck, as if to check it still hung there as it had for twenty four years.

They had just finished crossing the Atlantic Ocean. Compared to some plane trips she'd taken in the past, the remaining distance was nothing more than a stroll down the block.

Sam always had very specific flight times – even when she was doing tours. She would always take flights that would land her at the destination at about 8AM or so. That way she could sleep on the plane and for a couple hours at the hotel before going out to see the sights or preparing for the night's show. She'd become amazing at sleeping through the most adverse conditions, but she had yet to close her eyes. She was as wide-awake as if the jolt from tens shots of espresso was just kicking in. And she'd been like that for hours. She was too nervous to focus on anything – reading, writing, even the music she's brought along was beginning to annoy her.

"Samantha," Kimberly said from her right, her eyes still closed. "If you don't stop jiggling that damn leg, I'm going to murder you."

"I'm nervous."

"You can play in front of thousands of fans; I'm sure you can face a little family time without problem."

"I'm going to have the conversation I've been avoiding since I found out I was pregnant."

"And what's that?" Kimberly asked with an exasperated sigh, obviously having given up on sleep to calm her neurotic friend.

"'What's the matter with you? How could you get pregnant before marriage? Why aren't you married? What do you mean you won't live only for your children? Why can't you be more like a proper mother and stay at home – one home – with you daughter?'" Sam mocked in her best impersonation of her father.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad."

"Oh, that'll just be the interrogation part. There's still the angry yelling, the disappointed frowns, the cold glares, and my personal favorite: complete and total freeze out."

"If you don't want to see them so badly, then why are we on a bloody plane to Los Angeles?"

"Oh, it's not _them_. I mean, I expect some anger from Don and Charlie, but that – that's going to be all my father."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Kimberly said after a moment of silence. That was always what Kimberly said after she was sure Sam's ranting was through, and she was usually right. But this time, it didn't calm Sam.

-

It's against FBI regulations to use the network for personal reasons. But this time Don was the supervisor. No one would question his tracking down some obscure American citizen who lived overseas. No one could tie Samantha Mann to him personally – Sam obviously paid a lot to keep the average citizen from tracking her without committing numerous felonies, most likely to deter paparazzi from delving too deep into her past.

But he wasn't an average citizen. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to him. Megan was on the phone; Colby and David were discussing a new development on the case. Good. No one would question a special agent looking for someone, expect for the team. They would know it had nothing to do with the case, especially Megan who was already suspicious of his response when she first brought up Samantha Mann.

That was odd. There was recent activity on her pass port within the US. He checked where it was used. LA International. His mouth went dry. That couldn't be possible. She was in LA?

His phone jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Eppes," he answered, slightly flustered.

"Don," a feminine voice said cautiously.

"Yeah, who's this?" His heart was beating fast. His name rolled off her tongue like no one else's. She could be no one else.

"It's Sam," she whispered. She was silent. He was silent.

"You're in LA," he said finally, making sure to sound authoritative on her whereabouts. He didn't want to give her a chance to lie.

"Yes, she whispered again.

He recognized the whisper. It wasn't that "I can't talk because someone is listening" whisper, but the "I've never been this nervous in my entire life" whisper. He smiled knowing he could still recognize such a small detail.

"Do you remember where Mikey's Place is?"

"Yeah," she answered, closer to her normal level, gaining confidence.

"Can you be there at noon?"

"Yes," she said this time without hesitating, completely in control.

"I'll see you there."

Noon couldn't come fast enough.

"Where are you going?" David asked as Don headed towards the elevator, jacket in hand. The rest of the team turned to stare at him. Don Eppes did not leave during a case.

"I'll be back in a little while," was all he said, drawing even more curious stares.

Mikey's was on the other side of downtown from the FBI office. During high school, Mikey's was the place to hang with friends or go to impress a girl, especially if you were a sports star. Mikey always honored the local high school heros. Hell, Don was still up on his Wall of Fame.

Don walked in. It was still the place for teens, it seemed. He was probably the oldest patron in the place – no, scratch that, there was some one else his age. His exact age.

A group of high school jocks looking to score with the beautiful, slightly older woman surrounded her. She certainly wasn't the same girl she was in high school. She smiled sympathetically at the boys' attempts, not a hint of the exasperation he would have expected from a teenage Sam. The joy he had from realizing he still knew her voice quickly died. He knew nothing about her.

"Well, boys, as delightful as this conversation has been, my lunch date is here," Sam announced over the din the teens were making. She hadn't even turned her head to see Don standing there; instead, she sat with perfect poise and continued to look at the boys with her sympathetic smile as they complained about leaving. But Don took it as his cue to rescue her, which he did, and sent the boys away.

Once they were gone (after one last attempt at getting her number), Don sat down across from Sam. In person, it was obvious they were close relatives. They had the same eyes and nose. When they were younger, people commented Sam was the feminine version of Don, and that seemed to still be the case.

They stared at each other for a few minutes, not saying a word. There wasn't exactly a standard way of handling seeing your long lost twin after eighteen years.

"I'm surprised you didn't kill those boys," he said suddenly; the silence was driving him insane.

"Oh, I've, uh, gotten used to it."

"Right… I figured with the fame and everything."

"You know?" she asked, taken aback.

"Yeah, I've been to your website."

"Oh well, don't believe everything you read," Sam said and took a sip of her water.

"You lied on your own website?"

"Of course not. You know I don't lie, Don." And it was true – Sam never had to lie to be deceptive. "I simply presented the truth in a way that _might_ cause people to be misled."

Typical Sam, maybe she hadn't changed.

"So… if you read that bio, then you know about…"

"Your daughter," he completed.

"Yeah…" she seemed to be nervously waiting for his approval.

"What's my niece's name?"

Relief swept over her features, and she smiled broadly. "Danielle, well, Dannie – everyone calls her Dannie."

"Why didn't you tell me about her when Mom died?"

"I didn't want you and Charlie and Dad to know," she answered quietly, probably anticipating the anger that came with her admission.

"You didn't want me to know I have a niece; that Dad has a granddaughter."

"Don," she began without a hint of anger. "You know as well as I do that _everyone_, especially Dad, thought I was some coke whore."

Don wanted to bite back in defense, but he knew it was useless. He had thought she turned into a druggie whore, and her being pregnant would only reinforce that idea.

They fell silent again, and a waiter came to take their orders. They didn't speak again until their food came.

"How'd you find out about the website?" she asked finally.

"Charlie's girlfriend is a fan," he replied and noticed Sam break out into a brilliant Cheshire cat grin.

"Charlie has a girlfriend?" she asked as though just to check she head him correctly.

"Yeah – Amita."

"Charlie has a girlfriend!" she sang out ad laughed. "I'm so proud."

Don relaxed completely. This was definitely the Sam he knew.


End file.
